'Yes, my dear, I hope so. In good time, please God.'
Here Mr Plornish delivered himself of an oration which he invariably
made, word for word the same, on all such opportunities. It was couched in the following terms: 'John Edward Nandy. Sir. While there's a ounce of wittles or drink of
any sort in this present roof, you're fully welcome to your share on
it. While there's a handful of fire or a mouthful of bed in this present
roof, you're fully welcome to your share on it.
If so be as there should be nothing in this present roof, you should be
as welcome to your share on it as if it was something, much or little.
And this is what I mean and so I don't deceive you, and consequently
which is to stand out is to entreat of you, and therefore why not do
it?' To this lucid address, which Mr Plornish always delivered as if he had
composed it (as no doubt he had) with enormous labour, Mrs Plornish's
father pipingly replied: 'I thank you kindly, Thomas, and I know your intentions well, which is
the same I thank you kindly for. But no, Thomas. Until such times as
it's not to take it out of your children's mouths, which take it is, and
call it by what name you will it do remain and equally deprive, though
may they come, and too soon they can not come, no Thomas, no!'
Mrs Plornish, who had been turning her face a little away with a corner
of her apron in her hand, brought herself back to the conversation again
by telling Miss Dorrit that Father was going over the water to pay his
respects, unless she knew of any reason why it might not be agreeable.
Her answer was, 'I am going straight home, and if he will come with me
I shall be so glad to take care of him--so glad,' said Little Dorrit,
always thoughtful of the feelings of the weak, 'of his company.'
'There, Father!' cried Mrs Plornish. 'Ain't you a gay young man to
be going for a walk along with Miss Dorrit! Let me tie your
neck-handkerchief into a regular good bow, for you're a regular beau
yourself, Father, if ever there was one.'
With this filial joke his daughter smartened him up, and gave him a
loving hug, and stood at the door with her weak child in her arms, and
her strong child tumbling down the steps, looking after her little old
father as he toddled away with his arm under Little Dorrit's.